//------------------------------// // Cleaning Out The Garden // Story: The Pillars of Equestria: The Temple of Enyalius // by Wise Cracker //------------------------------// “The next challenge is to clean up my garden. I’ll need three ponies from each group, as before.” “Leaving only two for the final challenge,” Star Swirl said to his counterpart. “That will be you and me, no doubt. Alright, then: Rockhoof, Mistmane, Stygian, your turn.” Star Swirl the Shaven didn’t bother calling out his crew. All he had to do was nod in their general direction and they stepped up to the plate. “Pay attention in there, Stygian,” Star Swirl the Shaven said. “Listen to the Mistmanes, they know their way around a garden.” No answer came. The ponies blinked out of existence, and the floor became a viewing portal again. “You do not trust your Stygian to complete the task?” Star Swirl asked. “I trust him with my life, and more. He’s a very smart Unicorn, very capable, and I never let him forget it. But he can be a little… impetuous at times. Rushes into action too quickly, without considering the consequences.” “Hmm. Mine has no such vices. They’ll complement each other nicely.” The shaven Unicorn looked back at the three pairs talking amongst themselves. “The other three certainly did. But why wouldn’t they? We are so alike, after all.” Star Swirl’s ears twitched when he heard the word ‘Gallopsandria’ in the conversation beyond. Mentions of Palomino Hill, sacred shields and oaths, soon followed. He kept his attention on the viewing pool in front of him, though, pursing his lips as he thought. “Yes. We’re practically the same,” he lied. “Okay,” said Stygian. “The good news is: it looks like it’s only a single plant that requires uprooting. The bad news is: that is one very large plant.” The plant in question was an affront to horticulturalists everywhere. It consisted mainly of vines, black ones covered in thorns. The tips of the vines twitched at times, like a sleeping cat’s tail. Here and there a rudimentary fly-trap set of leaves grew, that pulsed with an ominous rhythm. All in all, it wouldn’t have been a problem if it hadn’t been so impossibly large to boot, at least thirty staves high. The garden itself was lined with little cobblestones to mark where the ground should be counted as soil, and the giant weed took up nearly half of it, leaving the other half desolate. The circular garden was, by Stygian’s best estimate, about three hundred paces in diameter, if Rockhoof was taking his large strides. Whatever this thing was, it choked the life out of everything that tried to grow under it. “Okay, I say we torch the thing right here and now and be done with it,” said the other Rockhoof. “No!” Stygian shouted. “No, don’t try to harm it yet. This is clearly some sort of trick.” “How do you figure?” Rockhoof asked. Stygian sat down to think. “Let’s look at what we know of the previous trial: it was presented to us as a challenge of wits, with a time limit. It then became a race against time, but... the answer was not combat. What looked like a monster to fight was merely a distraction, and part of the solution. A plant of this size and weight is clearly meant to make us think it is a challenge of magical and physical power.” “When in reality it is a challenge of careful planning,” said the metal-clad Rockhoof. “You think if we go right for this thing, it’ll go badly?” “I don’t like the looks of those fly traps,” the caped Stygian whispered. “I agree,” Mistmane replied. “Look closely: those vines are pumping something upward, not sucking something down.” “You’re right,” said the other Mistmane. “I think I’ve seen this type of plant before, it’s listed in the archives of the Eastern Empire. What was its name, though? There’s Bamboo of Blasting, Petals of Pillaging, and...” “Iron Ivy, I believe,” Stygian said, pointing up at the tip of the plant. “Also known as Verdant Silver. It's a parasite plant.” He narrowed his eyes. "There must be a tree under there, being drained." “Yes, that! This is Iron Ivy: some Earth pony tribes planted this along their borders to keep intruders out.” “So this thing’s iron, then?” Rockhoof asked. “Not quite,” Stygian replied. “Its spores have the same effect on magic as elemental iron or silver would: they’re a very powerful magical disruptor. It’s also semi-intelligent, and will target sources of magic if left to grow uncontested and unmolested.” “Still, I can just burn the thing, can’t I?” the armoured Rockhoof said. “No. The plant would release its offspring as a survival mechanism, making the problem considerably worse.” “So how do you want to do this, then?” Stygian sighed. Mistmane nodded and patted his shoulder. “We shall treat it like the trap that it is: study it carefully, from a distance, and map out any weaknesses we can find. It hasn’t detected us yet, best to keep it that way. Clearly the stone circle keeps it contained somehow. Split up, everypony: I shall get a view from up above with my counterpart, study the higher leaves. You four group up in pairs: one for muscle power, one for magic, and best from different worlds. We’ll have a better chance if we combine our knowledge. Circle around, see if you can find where the main stem emerges from the ground, look for any white fleshy root nodules, or perhaps any place where the supporting plant isn’t entirely covered. We’ll have to try and uproot the parasite without harming the host. Hopefully we can find some options.” Stygian gestured to the mare. “Yes. What she suggested. It’s a fine strategy.” “I’m only saying what you were thinking, dear.” Rockhoof looked down at the other Stygian as they walked. Why the Unicorn kept himself covered up so much, he could only guess, but he supposed there were scars under that cape or something of that nature. “So, are you the brains of the operation in your world?” “Nah, I’m more of a spiritual fella,” came the reply, in a slightly higher pitch of voice than Rockhoof expected. “I use my magic when I can, protect the others. This should be right up my alley, though.” “Why cover yourself up, then?” “The magic I use, it leaves my hide feeling too tender. I don’t like how the air feels on my body, if that makes sense.” They stopped. Ahead of them, they could see some of the black mass spiralling straight up, meaning those were probably load-bearing growths. “Let’s see, one, two… do you know what we’re supposed to be looking for?” “Aye, it’s not a wooden plant, just a big herb. There’s loose vines, but there needs to be a hard centre for it to get that high. It couldn’t grow this tall if there weren’t any tree underneath to support it, and that means it needs to cling to something for support. We're looking for places where the grip is weaker.” Aye? “Where are you from?” Rockhoof asked. The little one shrugged. “The islands near Equestria, the Land of Red Ice.” Rockhoof stopped dead in his tracks. “But that’s where I’m from.” The little fellow looked Rockhoof over, still keeping his face obscured. “Wait. The others are the same age. How are you so much older than me?” Rockhoof backed away. “I… think there’s been a misunderstanding, young sir. You are the other world’s… Stygian, are ye not?” Stygian lowered his cowl, revealing his face. “What do you think?” Rockhoof’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Oh. Okay. Gotta admit, did not see that one coming.” “That was quick thinking back there. I almost blew the whole place up again,” the metal alicorn joked. “I’m sure you would have managed. Our Rockhoof is a very capable stallion, I have no reason to think you are any less so.” “Oh, I don’t know. Our Rockhoof is capable, yes, but I don’t have his raw magical power.” Stygian froze. “Excuse me?” “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.” The alicorn pressed on the jawline of his armour, and the metal plates folded back to reveal not a burly Earth pony, but a lanky, if healthy, Unicorn colt, barely hitting his stallion years. “You’re… you’re me. You are the Stygian of your world. But your armour?” “It gives me a nice boost in height, keeps me unharmed, and it stores some necessary components. It lets me serve as a pack mule, really, among other things.” “And your magic?” The other Stygian shook his head. “As depleted as yours, I fear. But I made do.” “How? Please, if I can be of use to my allies.” “I’ll tell you all about it, but we have a job to do first.” “So,” Mistmane started, after conjuring a translucent floating disk for elevation’s sake, along with a spyglass. “That little one is your Rockhoof, I take it?” “And the big one is our Stygian. What clued you off?” “They have a way of moving about them, a way of being.” “Very observant. Your condition, if you don’t mind my asking...” “I only look old, dear, it’s done nothing to my vitality, as I believe your Rockhoof already noticed,” Mistmane assured, moving the disk along in a circle, staying a safe distance as they both looked through their spyglasses. “Nor does it diminish my sorcerous powers.” “Sorcerous.” The mare nodded. “Not wizardly?” “Little bit of both, but I could only develop as the former. I have found my, ah, 'source' to pull from, and I've worked out my own spells from that nicely enough, though the wizardly studies do help in filling the gaps, obviously. Still, my condition does not affect it in the slightest.” “How did it happen? Or when, I suppose I should ask?” “I did it to myself, of course,” Mistmane replied. “A friend needed my aid, and I gave it to her. I gave her my beauty, so she would not have to live in pain anymore.” The other mare shook her head in shock. “You gave her your beauty? Goodness, the mere mechanics of that boggle the mind. That is highly conceptual magic, more than I ever learned.” “You did not study at the libraries in the East?” “I did, but they had nothing like that. Magic of that sort, it’s unheard of in my world. Ours tends to be a more… tangible magic, more practical and measurable, nothing that deals with concepts and abstracts. No, I was faced with the same choice, and I used a transmutation spell, along with some medicinal power provided by my teachers.” Mistmane nodded. “I’m sure you realise what’s so different between our worlds by now, then. Somnanbula figured it out quickly.” “Yes.” “Are you okay with knowing? Your path, I mean. Are you bothered by...” The younger-looking mare smiled, reluctantly. “I have… mixed feelings, as you might expect." "Of course. But rest assured, I think no less of you for it. You did what you could, and you helped your friend, as I did. You were merely more efficient about it." "I suppose. Still, it's hard to shake the feeling that I'm somehow inadequate, for not making the sacrifice you did. Then again, I suspect that is exactly what the spirit is hoping for.” “Undoubtedly. The Star Swirls are going to throw a fit. That'll be a nice show, I'm sure.” Rockhoof stared at the young Earth pony before him. The lad couldn’t have been older than twelve, but his colours, cutie mark, all around he looked like Rockhoof did as a child. “You’re a… a colt.” “And you are a full-grown stallion,” came the reply. “Were you hit with an aging spell?” Rockhoof shook his head. “Nah. Aye, in a manner of speaking. When the volcano on my island erupted, I dug a trench for the lava to go safely into the ocean. Something, ah, something snapped in me, and I turned into this.” The little one looked at the shovel, thinking. “Then you are still a child under all that muscle?” “Aye. I’m still learnin’ how to read proper-like. Mistmane knows, she understands that high magic much better than I do. But you’re younger than I was when this happened to me. How is that...” Little Rockhoof smiled. “I was born a farmer’s son, like you, I imagine. I was struck by illness when I was little, and the weakness that followed never really went away.” “Same. Nasty fever, nearly ended me as a wee lad.” “But the Circle of the Foam Islands saw that I had a strong heart, and a mind capable of focus, so they took me in.” “The whatnow?” The boy held up part of his cloak. “Circle of the Foam Islands. Druids. I’m a druid, I thought it was obvious from the cape. I channel magic, like any Earth pony does, but I draw it a little more directly from the forces of nature. When the volcano erupted, I used everything I had.” He reached for his belt and brought up a golden sickle. “I didn’t have a shovel, but I had magic. Still, I was on my own, and outmatched. I reached down deep for power, and, well, this was the end result.” “How, though?” “Druids of a certain level of power don’t age like normal creatures do. They have vitality and life coursing through their very veins. I, ah, over-imbibed that day, that’s how they described it. I should have died from exhaustion, instead it cost me years of my life, just like it cost you. Unlike you, it cost me years I’d already spent.” “Hmm. But ye are a hero, then?” “Yes.” “And a child?” “As much as you are.” “Good. Nice to know that part’s still the same.” “I always had a knack for ink- and scroll-based magic,” the other Stygian said. “When the time came for me to move the Sun, I did not lose as much as the rest did. I could still grab things in my magic, even if complex spells became impossible. I had to leave my village soon after that.” “It was the same with me,” Stygian replied. “Ponies do not like it when their sacrifices survive.” “Unfortunately. I suspect it has something to do with the nature of our magic being more inclined towards dark things, like ink and shadow. The light cannot do much with that, so it didn’t bother taking it.” “And your armour?” “I fashioned it myself, with the help of my friends. My power was crippled, yes, but my knowledge remained intact, so I became an artificer. I have little magic of my own, but I can still craft magical items to compensate, replicating magic from other sources. That’s how I got this: I could copy certain elements of an arcane nature to forge a weapon for myself. The other Pillars offered up their artefacts as models, my ink-like magic transcribed it like it would a scroll, and the result is this. I’ll show you my uncanny cannon later, we’ll likely need it. Do you not have any combat capabilities of your own?” Stygian shook his head, still in shock. “No. I’m sorry, has the Sun started moving on its own yet in your world? Did you get your magic back at all?” “No, we are working on the Sun situation, just like you, when we’re not clearing out monsters in this new land. And no, my armour is my only real power. I keeps my body covered at all times, protected, and it allows me to use magic that would otherwise be well out of my reach. I don’t think it would be difficult for you to make one. Your friends have their own artefacts as well, do they not?” “They do. I never considered asking for such a thing.” Stygian chuckled. “What a thought. I… I could still make a difference.” “I said the same thing when I had the idea. Everyone was glad to help, and I’ve tried to prove myself worthy of their trust ever since. I like to think I’ve earned it.” “I’ll be sure to try it myself, once we are done here.” “And speaking of which, there’s an exposed trunk.” He pointed to some spots up high that hadn’t been fully obscured by the choking vines. “Yes, it’s avoiding those areas for some reason. Must be an immune reaction of some sorts, it might react well to healing magic. It would help if we knew what type of plant it was coiled around.” “Knowing this place, probably a world tree of some sorts. Not Yggdrasil, but certainly a cut clone, at the very least, or some variation. I half expected there to be flying cats around here, honestly, or at least a troll, a rat king at the bare minimum.” “My thoughts exactly. You are well-informed on darker things.” “Know your enemy, or know defeat." He snorted. "Tell me, what do you know? Of this challenge? Really?” “Not nearly as much as what I do not know,” Stygian replied. “But can you defeat this thing?” “Not in a million years.” “Did not think so. But I suspect you know how we might.” Stygian looked up at himself. “You are not as mighty as me, it’s true,” the artificer said. “But there’s a brightness in your eyes, one I’ve only seen in one other pony. And I do not mean myself, either.” Stygian didn’t reply to that. “I think you are smarter than you let on. And while I may act too quickly to prove myself, you need to act, period. I saw how Mistmane picked up for you. Why not speak up?" "My place is in the shadows," Stygian said. "I do not have the power my friends have." The other Stygian leaned in. "Neither did I. But I had knowledge, and without knowledge, power can be made useless. Perhaps you do have power, and you simply do not know it, making you believe you are useless. The Star Swirl of my world would never tolerate such behaviour from me, nor would he allow me to sit idly by as another exhibits it. So, I ask again: can you defeat this thing?” The Unicorn bit his lip and grumbled. “Together, I think we might.” “Good. Let’s go tell the rest, then.” The problem was vast, and came with several dimensions. Fail to contain even one part of the threat, and failure was certain. The Mistmanes went back and forth on what spells they could use. The Rockhooves couldn't decide how to get the parasite off without harming the host. The armoured Stygian sat and listened, but offered no real input on the matter. In the end, it had fallen unto Stygian to formulate the plan. Executing it was a mere afterthought. Still, his heart pounded as he sat on the sidelines. He stared at the plant, waiting for some signal, a twitch, a sign. Down below, at the base, the soil sank ever so slightly. “Go! Go now!” The two Mistmanes were first to spring into action. Their horn alight, they formed a wind bubble around the leaves up top and forced them to fly back with the help of a minor anti-gravity spell. Green spores filled the air behind the plant, but they were harmless at the distance the mares created: as long as the spores were held back by something physical and not a magical force, they couldn't block the spell itself. As long as the Mistmanes were careful not to let the spores touch anyone, they were safe. The tentacle-like vines quickly began to squirm towards the pair, but by then the other Stygian had already made his move. Stygian’s jaw dropped when he saw his counterpart go to work. With some intricate gestures of his hooves, the armoured Unicorn shed the wing and stilt portions of his suit. The pieces floated and rearranged themselves to form what could rightly be called an uncanny cannon. Where the feathers of wings had been, there were now three layers of tines, like a closed flower. The stilt pieces that gave the artificer his added height formed legs, while finally the tailguard slipped off and formed a barrel. Arcane energy flared up, sparks flew, and the crippled Unicorn let loose. The barrage of blue bolts made the ground shake, but didn’t hit the plant itself. Even so, it made the vines stop as the magical force in the air formed a smokescreen for its magical senses. The impact of the attack only served to loosen the soil around it. There was a moment when the plant was disoriented. In that moment, Stygian shouted “Rockhoof! Now!” The Earth pony titan went straight into a dash past the straining Unicorn mares, shovel in mouth. One final shot from the uncanny cannon marked his target. He stuck his shovel into the ground, mashed his full weight into it, then heaved. With a bestial roar, Rockhoof ripped the thing out by the roots, sending it toppling over. Stygian held his breath. It’s working. That’s the main stem. Its roots are too shallow; as long as the tree underneath isn’t scooped up, we have this. Still the plant held on, clutching by its vines. It still held on to the tree, even after losing its grip on the ground. A maulwurf erupted from the ground Rockhoof had just tilled. “It’s all yours, kid!” he shouted. Stygian’s world went white from the excitement. The giant mole creature turned back into its pony form, and the little druid applied a healing touch to the main trunk of the tree that had been smothered. Yes, right at the base. Now let’s hope it- Snapping sounds filled the garden, like a thousand cords gave out at once, and the offending vines were thrown off. The black roots embedded in the bark withered and died, crumbling into dust, and the uncanny cannon burned away any errant plant matter with surgical precision. No seeds were released, no root nodules remained after little Rockhoof’s underground feeding frenzy, and the host tree glowed and regenerated, leaves sprouting from its branches as it filled the rest of the garden with new life. Grass began to grow under its influence, other smaller trees rose up and blossomed, all in all it looked done. Part of Stygian’s mind wondered what sort of tree it really was. It didn’t bear any fruits yet, probably too early after such an exertion. Something nagged at him, telling him it was an apple tree. Given the spirit’s prison, that seemed as likely an option as any. “It worked,” he said. “My plan worked.” “You sound surprised,” he heard the spirit say, though not loud enough for anypony else to notice. “Please do not mock me, spirit. You know full well how weak I am.” “For now.” Stygian sighed. The others were congratulating each other, all except his counterpart, the artificer. The artificer merely looked at him, expecting him to step forward and claim triumph. He merely sighed in relief, not wanting the attention. Stygian preferred to stay in the shadows.